Stop Being In Awe of Us

I have said it before in previous poems, Yet my message has not been heeded, We don't need you telling us how good we are, And that you envy our place in the world, Little old New Zealand, The land of the all blacks. If you had lived here in the sixties, You would have seen different entities, Less capable of murder, Doing good deeds, With few turning to greed, And drugs not compatible with the many, Who could still run the length of the field, A place where children had adventures, And shot rabbits on the way to school, Never being seen without a pocketknife, In their pocket during weekdays, And a sheath Knife in their hands in the weekend. So, I say again, Don't tell us how well we are doing, Because too many think it is true, And we are fast running out of No. 8 wire, Producing less each day of what you are in awe, Our exports now including drug kingpins, Fraudsters and con men and women to equal anything you have over there, And corruption and bribery on the rise here. So, instead of being in awe of us, For being less than we were before, Give us something to aim for, That will get us back some mana, Instead of laurels on which to rest. I for one am not yet ready to lower the bar, Or throw in the towel, On aiming for something better than, That of which you are in awe.